


To Be An Angel

by angelic_alex



Category: Original Work, 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs
Genre: Blood and Torture, Fyodor Dostoyevsky Being an Asshole (Bungou Stray Dogs), M/M, Original Character(s), Psychological Torture, Religious Fanaticism, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:14:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26379388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelic_alex/pseuds/angelic_alex
Summary: Jasper succeeded in rescuing his friend Emery from the merciless hands of Fyodor Dostoyevsky. Now he must face the demon, who sees in him a friend long gone.
Kudos: 10





	To Be An Angel

Jasper was disgusted. He felt physically nauseous. The familiar, graceful, click clack of Fyodor’s boots was growing ever closer; and Jasper was excited. Anticipation buzzed under his skin, flowing like electricity in his veins. He had been left alone in a pure white room. The floor was white tile, the walls a crisp white paint. There was a bed with white wood, with plain white bedding. The only other things in the room were a large closet that was locked, and a white trunk that was also locked. Jasper had attempted to pick them but they were complex and he had no tools. Upon arrival he had been stripped, searched, scrubbed, and redressed in white dress pants and a flowy long sleeve white shirt. Overall it was pretty comfortable, he had even been given white briefs to wear underneath and a ponytail to tie his hair. However, he had been in this room for probably two or so days now and he was getting sick of all the white. There were no windows, just harsh artificial lights that had stayed on the entire time. With no food and no water Jasper had a pounding headache that only irritated him more. 

Fyodor’s footsteps stopped right outside the door. Jasper remained quiet, listening intently, trying to hear the sound of a key in a lock, or if Fyodor was just messing with him and would continue on his way. Jasper was tense. He wanted nothing more than to just use his ability to take Fyodor down here and now but Emery had only managed to escape a few days ago. Jasper had to keep Fyodor as distracted from the search for him as possible. Occupying his time and attention so that he couldn’t focus it into finding and reclaiming Emery. Jasper stared at the doorknob as the lock clicked and the silver knob began to turn, opening to reveal the rat himself, the man who considered himself God, Fyodor Dostoyevsky. 

“Were you waiting long? I unfortunately had other, more important things to tend to which ended up delaying my visit.” He spoke in russian, purring his words as he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him which automatically locked. Jasper narrowed his eyes, not saying anything. He was trying to get a read on Fyodor. What was it that he wanted from Jasper? The sooner Jasper could figure out his motivations the sooner he could figure out what Fyodor would do to him. The sooner he could know that, the better he could prepare and up his chances of not giving Fyodor what he wanted. 

“This is just a technicality, as I do value my life and am well aware of how much you wish to take it from me.” Fyodor continued in russian, his violet eyes gleaming. In one motion he had grabbed Jasper’s arm, pressed a syringe into the skin and pushed a clear, thick fluid into Jasper. Panic coursed through Jasper the instant he saw the needle but Fyodor had been more prepared than him. Jasper snatched his arm away, sending the empty syringe flying into a corner, ignoring the pain of it being ripped out. He attempted to summon his ability but as he reached in his mind for the part of him that was Dante’s Inferno, he only found an empty space. He began shivering as a strange cold took over him. Though it wasn’t an icy cold, it was a sudden lack of heat. His body was no longer burning the way it always did. Jasper had expected something like this. Fyodor was well aware of his ability and the destructive nature of it. Fyodor knew all about the sheer power that Jasper held within him at all times. After all he was partially to thank for Jasper having it in the first place. Still, knowing that it was coming was nothing compared to actually feeling the cold needle in his skin, followed by the feeling of intrusion as something foreign began pumping through his veins. 

Jasper managed to get himself back to his usual apathetic resting face, turning to face Fyodor. The albino refused to speak back to him. Not in russian, not here, not to him. 

“Giving me the silent treatment? How childish you’ve become.” Fyodor teased, moving a step closer to Jasper. His cape flowed behind him, the dark fabric a harsh contrast to the overwhelming white of the room. It set him apart from the rest of it, made it obvious that Fyodor did not belong here. This room was for those below him. 

“I remember how great you once were. You were brutal and cruel, unyielding in your task. A vicious determination to do what you needed to do at any cost.” The words were spoken with a tone of pity, but there was an emptiness hidden inside them. Like the words were rehearsed and being read. There was nothing natural about them. Fyodor’s voice felt like a thousand needles pressing into Jasper, pricking him over and over. Not enough to really hurt him, but enough that it was becoming very annoying very quickly. 

“Now look at you. Forfeiting your own mission for the sake of someone else. You didn’t come here just to save that pretty little mafia boy. Helping him was probably a direct hindrance to the plan you had so carefully concocted and yet…” Fyodor’s voice trailed off as he stepped close enough to grab a lock of Jasper’s hair, rolling it around in his fingers with a satisfied hum. 

“You submitted yourself to my treatment just for his sake. I know exactly where he is of course. Pitiful boy, easy prey to catch.” 

Jasper tensed at Fyodor’s words. He went to walk towards Fyodor, be threatening, anything. But he found that as he took a step his head spun. The room tilted around him, everything blurring together. Jasper couldn’t think. He was trying to wrap his head around something to say back. He had to do something. He couldn’t let his sacrifice be for nothing. Emery could not come back here. The sudden state he found his mind in didn’t allow for him to think about the fact that Fyodor could be lying. Jasper tried again to step forward but this time found himself suddenly laying on the tile floor. The floor felt so cold, without his ability running through him he was left shivering and shaking on the floor, his vision hazy and unable to focus. 

Fyodor crouched down in front of him, tilting Jasper’s chin up with a calloused, bony finger. He forced Jasper to look him in his eyes, purple gaze burning with sadistic desire. 

“You are so pretty. So white and pure on the outside but dark and sinful within.” Fyodor purred, gripping Jasper’s chin as he tilted the other’s chin this way and that to look at his prize. Jasper was panicking. He was completely helpless. Memories of similar times were trying to enter his mind and in this drugged state he didn’t have the mental strength to push them away. He was slowly blacking out, being sent back… back underground… seated back in front of that mirror. He felt the rawness in his throat as he cried out, unable to even move his body, thrash around, do anything.

His vision blacked out and the last thing he heard was Fyodor’s voice. 

“I will make you my angel as he once was.”

Jasper came to and his head was pounding, he felt cold. His eyes were barely able to open, allowing him to see just enough to tell he was in a different room. His shoulders felt sore and he went to stretch them. His eyes shot open as he realized two things. He was standing, and his hands were strung up tightly, putting him in a position resembling crucifixion. He also noticed the fact that the wall in front of him was a mirror, and he could see the reflection of his back through another mirror behind him. He immediately began to panic, thrashing around, trying to break his restraints with no luck. He was still weak and couldn’t connect with his ability. The room had purposely been made cold, so cold Jasper could see his breath. He shivered. The cold was actually a welcome feeling. The ever insistent burning inside of him was like a personal hell. 

His head still felt heavy and it was hard to think. Jasper could tell he was currently alone but he didn’t know how long that would last. He craned his ears to see if he could hear footsteps but there was nothing. This room was stupidly white as well. All the walls, minus the mirror in front of him were white, with the same white tile flooring from the previous room. The only other thing in the room was the white, full body mirror behind him, showcasing his back. Jasper closed his eyes, trying to focus on his thoughts. He needed to think about a plan of action. He needed to think about what Fyodor could be planning. This is what infuriated and scared Jasper about Fyodor. He had no idea what his motivations were. He didn’t know what Fyodor wanted from him so he didn’t know what Fyodor was going to do.

Jasper couldn’t concentrate on more than one thing and he jumped at the sound of the door opening behind him. In the mirror he watched as Fyodor walked in. The russian said nothing, just closed the door behind him, turning to face the wall behind Jasper, moving casually as he removed his cape. He folded it neatly and set it on the ground in the corner opposite the door. Jasper just stared at him in the mirror, watching the way he moved, trying to discern anything he could. But as usual Fyodor was completely unreadable. He was left in just his usual white shirt and pants, contrasted by his red boots. Fyodor finally walked over to Jasper, stepping directly in front of him, pulling two knives out of his pocket, holding one in each hand. The knives were both very ornate. One of them was delicate and fine. The whole thing was a gleaming silver with very intricate angel wing designs on the handle. There were other biblical style carvings on the handle, the whole thing felt very clean and pure. 

The other knife was a pitch black metal, matte and sharp. The designs on the handle were much harsher, featuring skulls and a pair of skeleton wings. The feeling of this knife was much less pure. This knife held the souls of those it had tortured and reveled in knowing that it existed only to cause pain. The two knives contrasted each other beautifully. 

“I would like for you to choose. I’m curious which your mind is drawn to.” Fyodor purred, still speaking russian. Jasper lifted his head, looking into Fyodor’s eyes. He answered the other in english.

“The silver one. I’ll enjoy it either way.” Was all he said, holding onto his dignity, letting Fyodor know that he was choosing to let the other torture him. Fyodor smiled, holding the silver knife up to the light, moaning as he spoke. 

“Yes. Yes. How perfectly divine.” He purred, running the flat end of the sharp blade down the side of his face. He threw the other knife away, letting it clatter on the floor. He took the silver blade and tilted Jasper’s head around with it, keeping the blade dangerously close to the skin but never giving the satisfaction of slicing. Jasper narrowed his eyes at Fyodor, the other was not looking in his eyes. Fyodor was running his eyes over Jasper’s body. 

“Are you familiar with scripture? How much do you know of the bible?” Fyodor hummed, beginning to walk circles around Jasper, still dragging the blade across the other’s body but not making any move to use it just yet. Jasper glared at him through the mirror. 

“There’s no use in memorizing such bullshit.” He spat, keeping his head held high, trying not to let the anticipation of that knife being used on him consume him. The blade was cold, freezing over Jasper’s already cold skin. Fyodor hummed in disapproval, stepping back in front of Jasper. 

“Disappointing. At least you’re a clean slate. No bad habits in how you recite.” Fyodor looked him up and down, a small smile tainting his lips as he continued,

“Let’s have a little lesson, why don’t we? I’ll recite something, and you say it back to me. I’ll only say it once, and if you recite it perfectly we’ll do another. But if you mess up, you’ll have to be punished until you get it right.” Fyodor’s voice remained level and calm but the sadistic excitement in his eyes made them practically glow. Jasper chuckled, almost condescendingly at Fyodor. 

“Everyone’s so scared of you but all you are is a boy trapped in his years of catholic school.” He mocked. Jasper knew he would end up playing Fyodor’s game, the russian had every advantage over the albino. Didn’t mean Jasper wasn’t going to try and be a bastard about it. 

Fyodor’s lips quirked into a small smile. He didn’t say anything about Jasper’s comment, but it was clear he was pleased in the most sadistic way. Fyodor loved when people didn’t give in right away. He knew he could break Jasper and seeing all this spunk and fight in the beginning would only make it more satisfying. 

“I’m adding another rule. Your recitation must also be done in russian. I will not accept an answer otherwise, even if recited perfectly.” 

Jasper felt anger seep deep into him. It was burning so hot Jasper might have mistaken it for his ability if he wasn’t so painfully aware of the current disconnect to that part of his mind. He didn’t wish to give his captor the satisfaction of an answer and instead chose to just stare at himself in the mirror, admiring how pretty he looked strung up like this. His hair had been put in a ponytail and draped over one side, the messiness of it allowing a few hairs to fall from his many layers and frame his face. He began making modelesque faces at himself, acting like Fyodor wasn’t even there. Playing as if he was at home, posing in front of his own mirror. Fyodor clicked his tongue, moving to stand behind Jasper now, the blade he held glinted in the harsh artificial light. 

“Therefore, I urge you, brothers, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God—this is your spiritual act of worship. Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will. Romans 12:1-2.” 

The Russians voice remained completely steady, reciting the passage as if it had been carved into his very soul. Which truthfully, it had been. He waited patiently for Jasper to speak, to say it back to him. Fyodor knew that his pet had the intellect to remember what he had been told. Now it was time to see what it took to get Jasper to begin his journey towards salvation. 

Jasper shifted his gaze in the mirror from himself to Fyodor. He knew that eventually he would be forced into going along with Fyodor’s antics but he refused to give the russian the satisfaction of doing so from the beginning. Fyodor stood idly, playing with the sharp knife in his hands, a bored expression on his face. It felt strange to see him without his cape, it made him look… smaller, somehow. His presence was not quite so imposing now that Jasper could see how thin, and truly weak Fyodor was physically. Somehow though it made Fyodor that much more terrifying. A man this small and sickly being so powerful meant he didn’t rely on brute strength. Everything Fyodor did, all the havoc he wreaked, the damage he did, was on the mind. 

Purple eyes met Jasper’s in the mirror and the russian sighed. 

“Do you know why I’m having you memorize and recite bible passages?” 

He questioned, placing the blade of the knife on Jasper’s skin. Jasper flinched at how cold the metal felt on his skin and braced himself for a slicing feeling that never came. Fyodor was teasing him, not allowing the blade to cut through Jasper’s paper skin just yet. Jasper bit back a whine. He was absolutely craving the pain he knew that knife would offer. His body betrayed him, shaking with want and desperation. Fyodor was looking at him expectantly and Jasper let out a sound of frustration. 

“To fulfill some kind of twisted biblical erotic fantasy?” 

He sneered, gasping out as the blade pressed ever so slightly into him. The hot blood dripping down his back was a harsh contrast to his chilled skin. All of the sensations ran straight to Jasper’s head and he fought the haze that was threatening to take over.

“Not quite. You see you remind me of someone. Someone who was truly ethereal, the only person to exist as my equal in this world.” 

Fyodor’s voice spoke with affection and Jasper noticed the smallest spark of fondness in Fyodor’s eyes before being replaced with the forward dead stare the russian usually kept. 

“They were truly the closest thing to an angel in this world. But of course truly divine beings exist only to suffer and they were taken from me.”

Jasper felt anger flare deep and hard inside of him. How dare this monster pretend to feel loss. How dare he pretend to know what the truly empty feeling of losing someone you care for feels like. 

“You bastard.” Jasper spat out, venom lacing his tone.

Fyodor grinned, clearly satisfied to finally have touched a nerve with Jasper. 

“You two are so alike all the way down to the way you look, with some proper training you could become the angel you once were.”

Fyodor’s voice took on a crazed lilt as he spoke, digging the knife deep into Jasper’s back, dragging it in some sort of pattern. 

“And what is an angel without their wings?” Fyodor purred. 

Jasper’s eyes opened wide with panic and he frantically shifted his gaze to look at his back in the mirror, seeing a feather-like design carved into his skin. Blood was pouring from the wound and it stung like hell and Jasper’s mind raced. Wings? Was Fyodor planning to add a feather every time Jasper didn’t do what was asked of him? Panic gripped him with a harsh and unforgiving fist. He could tell from the deepness of the cut Fyodor was trying to make it scar. Jasper let out a choked sound. He couldn’t live with Fyodor’s sadistic scars decorating his entire back. 

Jasper began to grind his teeth together, biting back his pride and beginning to speak,

“Therefore, I urge you, brothers, in view of God’s— AH!” Jasper cut himself off with a cry as Fyodor sank the holy looking knife into his skin again, carving another feather as he let out a disappointed sigh.

“In russian, my little angel.” 

If Jasper’s teeth weren’t enhanced he was sure they would have cracked with how hard he was grinding. He had promised himself to never speak that language again. That language was reserved for his past. It belonged to a part of him that didn’t exist anymore. A part of him he vowed to never revisit. But now he was here. Fyodor was having fun now, but there was no telling how his attitude would change if Jasper continued to defy him. 

Jasper swallowed heavily, hanging his head, unable to look at himself as he began to recite the passage in Russian. It had been so long since he had spoken it he made a few mistakes, paying for each one with a new feather, a wing pattern beginning to take shape. Jasper cried out in frustration. He was trying to minimize the damage as much as possible and failing until he finally got it right. 

Jasper was losing himself. He was trying to fight it but he was losing, badly. The feeling of the knife slicing his skin as easily as paper stopped being painful and instead the sting was registering as pure pleasure in his mind. 

As he continued to spit out bible verses, his mind clouded over every time he messed up, knowing the feeling of the knife was coming. His words were slurred and heavy with pleasure, broken up by moans and gasps and begs for more, more, more pain. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and shame flushed through his whole body. He was completely exposed, face red, eyes blazing, tongue out and drool dripping from his mouth. He was pathetic. Seeing himself as such a mess at Fyodor’s hand, under Fyodor’s knife… 

He loved it. He loved feeling so crazed, yes, he was awful, he’d done awful things, hurt people, betrayed people, loved and lost and pushed people away. Yes this was right. This was how he deserved to be treated. 

Fyodor did not miss the change in Jasper’s behavior, moving from bible verses and just having the other repeat degrading things about himself. 

“I am but a sinful whore who pledges myself to my lord. To love only my lord and to embrace Him only.” Fyodor spoke, the russian sounding harsh, bouncing off the walls and cutting into Jasper as sharply as the knife. He opened his mouth to repeat what Fyodor had said, only to stop. Something in his subconscious was screaming at him. What was it saying? It sounded like a name. Jasper furrowed his brow, trying to hear that voice in his head through the haze that had consumed him and shrouded his mind. 

He cried out as he felt the knife in his back, Fyodor saying nothing, just carving more into Jasper. But Jasper didn’t care, he was trying to focus. That moment of pain bringing clarity to his mind for only a second and he could hear the name loud and clear. The name of the person he truly wished to pledge his loyalty to. The man he wished to solely love and embrace for the rest of whatever life Jasper had left. 

_ D….. Daz….. Dazai. Dazai!  _

“Dazai!” Jasper cried out, unable to hold the name within him as warmth filled his heart, chest racking with sobs as he thought of the other man. Flashes of memories invading his mind. Hazel eyes glowing with love. Bandaged hands touching him with nothing but good intent. The feeling of being held, and seen, and loved. It overwhelmed Jasper and he began chanting Dazai’s name like a prayer, eyes closed, looking up, calling out for his lover until he felt that familiar pain in his back. Fyodor not carving one feather, not two, but finishing the wings, his face holding nothing but a terrifyingly neutral expression. 

Jasper just cried. Hot tears falling down his ice cold skin as he shivered in this strange room. His blood hot on his back, a sharp red puddle beneath him. His face was drained and his body somehow looked even paler as blood continued to pour from him. Jasper watched Fyodor carve the last feather before casually donning his boots, and putting both knives from before back into his pocket.

The russian moved to the front of Jasper, grasping the albino’s face harshly, his dangerous purple eyes burning into Jasper’s, his lips moving up into his trademark psychotic smile. 

“Dazai Osamu is dead.” 

And with that he dropped Jasper’s face, leaving the room. The sounds of his footsteps fading further away until Jasper was left completely alone in the room with nothing but those four words.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my first work I’ve ever posted on Ao3! You guys’ continued support of my writing + me and Zach’s ocs means so much! I hope you enjoyed :D


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